I found myself in what was, to me, a most hysterical and peculiar situation today.

Like a good mom, I took my kids to see Shrek.  Against my better judgement.  We had been shopping.  At the Mall.  A Long Time.  I hate the mall and I hate to shop.  OH how I HATE to SHOP.  But post shopping, we ate lunch.  Yum.  I love to eat.  OH how I LOVE TO EAT.

So I did not want to go to the movies.  Besides, I had read the reviews and they were disappointing–“Not Funny.” I didn’t want to spend the money or the two hours on something not funny.

But the manipulative munchkins talked me into seeing Shrek Forever After.  Hmm, one should not watch a Shrek movie and come away being SAD—they turned it into a Chick Flick, hello???  Who’s idea was THAT?  Fire the producer.  Fire the writers.  Fire the Key Grips.

Anyway, I was finding my heartrate/breathing a small bit of a challenge.  I had been fighting a little bit of irrational panic and adrenaline off and on.  And if any of you were at Old Navy today for their $1.00 Flip Flop sale, THEN YOU WERE PANICKING AS WELL, so don’t hate.  Go ahead, tell me you weren’t.  Good grief.  There were 983 people in there buying black flip-flops for $1.00 (limit of 5 per customer, black was all they had left).  I was tempted to bribe Bethany to yell “FIRE!!” just so that I could breathe again.

But today, though this goes against some of my strongest pet peeves, I am thinking that maybe an accumulation of panic amongst other things and thoughts, may have led to the situation I found myself in later that day, in the restroom of the Regal Theatre.

I was ill.  Very, very ill.  Very, very very ill.  In a very, very public bathroom.

Not.  Good.

And worse still, in the midst of being not well, it was so very hard not to laugh at the children’s, teens and their mom’s reaction as they entered the restroom, had I been in any condition at all to laugh.  Of course, I would become ill right as soon as SHREK (which was attended by two-count ’em, TWO birthday party groups) let out—thus I was in a bathroom full of people, all waiting their turn.  Oops.  Their comments were down-right hysterical, if I could have recorded them, I would have.  My favorite? “Someone needs some serious help.”

Has there every been a more truthful statement?

I tried to leave, but had to turn right back around, as I quickly sent a text to my daughter and apologizing that she and her siblings were having to wait for me.  Her response?  Something to the effect of : TAKE YOUR TIME.  Thanks, my daughter dear, I’ll do that.  I appreciate your permission.

About 30 minutes later, I was able to leave.  Yep-30 minutes.  Shoot, by then I could have snuck back in and could have chosen another movie to watch!  But alas, the teen driver was eagerly waiting out in our van, torturing her brothers and sister, and I think they were taking bets to see how long it would take me to reappear.  Should have gone to see Ironman 2, that would have taught them.

Just to finish off the story with a nice ending, the teen driver insisted that she must stop at Walmart.  Ugh.  But, being the good mother that I was trying hard to be, I acquiesced.  As we were leaving Walmart, I set off the door alarm.  I don’t know why.  The little old smiley face sticker man asked me for my receipt. (Why don’t they give out those stickers any more?  That was the only good part about going to Walmart.  I suppose they are trying to save trees and “Go Green”.  Bummer.)  He asked me if I’d bought a TV. A TV??  Really?   Of course I politely answered “No Sir”.  I could see my kids standing outside WalMart, (how did they get past the Walmart police and I did not?) making fun of me while he checked my receipt for contraband.  All he found was shampoo, my two new pairs of Sesame Street and AC/DC pajamas (no, Sesame Street and AC/DC does NOT create an antithesis), Pringle’s and shorts for Tim.  Oh, and I think I bought some toothpaste.  I’m thinking it was the AC/DC pajamas that were contraband.  Or the toothpaste.